The Most Wonderful Day of the Year
by Piscaria
Summary: Charlie's first Christmas at the factory.


**Warnings:** Presents. Sledding. Carols. Potentially lethal doses of fluff.

**Dedication:** This goes out to my wonderful and _stunning_ beta, Reibish, who threatened to hurt me if I never got around to posting this thing. I am posting it, it just happens to be a year later than I'd intended.

Thank you to my dearest most darling Trixy Smeagol for the read-through.

**A/N: **This story is set in the same universe as my slash WiP _Distance Makes the Heart_, so I suppose you can consider this a prequel of sorts. Nonetheless, you can understand this story without reading DMTH, and vice versa. Those who are so inclined could probably read this as pre-slash, but since DMTH happens a good seven years in the future, that's stretching the definition a bit far. This started out as a drabble for an livejournal community called 15minuteficlets, but, my muses being rather ambitious, they decided to give me a whole story instead. They must be fond of chocolate.

* * *

**The Most Wonderful Day of the Year**  
by Piscaria

Charlie whimpered in his sleep as the snow drifted down around him, falling through the hole in his bedroom ceiling. He hated winter, hated the biting cold that seeped through his quilts and his sweaters, chilling him down to the very bone. He tried to draw the blankets closer around him, but he couldn't move. He was frozen solid, turning slowly to ice, while the snowflakes landed in his eyes.

"Wake up, Charlie." His mother's warm voice, soft though it was, managed to penetrate the cold, and Charlie blinked awake slowly. The warmth of the chocolate room swept over him like a wave, almost shocking his body, and he pulled his down comforter closer around him, suddenly, dizzyingly grateful that Willy Wonka kept the factory so warm and toasty.

"What is it, Mum?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. Mrs. Bucket crouched on the floor next to his bed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"It's Christmas, Charlie," she said.

Oh. Charlie had known that it was Christmas Eve when he went to sleep last night, of course, although he'd tried not to think about it. Christmas had always been a somewhat disappointing occasion in the Bucket household, though Charlie, of course, loved his family too much to let them guess how much he hated the holiday. Nothing felt worse than returning to school after the Christmas holiday and listening to his classmates talk about their Christmas presents. And of course, one of them would always turn to him and asked, with feigned sweetness, "So what did _you_ get Charlie?" He could never decide what he hated more -- the malice of his classmates, or the Christmas carols and programs that always took over the radio and television this time of year, reminding Charlie how happy he should be, and how rotten he was for being disappointed in the holiday.

One part of Charlie, the painfully new and vulnerable part of him that Willy Wonka had breathed to life and taught to hope, had wondered if Christmas in the factory might make for a rather different experience than Christmas outside the factory. After all, with the pocket money Mr. Wonka gave him every week, Charlie had been able to buy presents for his family, instead of giving them the crayon drawings they usually got. But after eleven years of disappointment, Charlie couldn't bring himself to hope for anything more than his usual homemade sweater. He managed a weak smile, and his mother beamed at him.

"Come downstairs," she whispered.

Climbing out of bed, Charlie started down the ladder in his pajamas and froze, nearly falling off as he caught sight of the living room. A fantastic Christmas tree twinkling with tiny lights and decorations made of spun sugar stood beside his grandparents' bed. Piles and piles of presents filled the space beneath it. Charlie caught his name on several of them. On the bed, his grandparents grinned at him, all of them calling, "Merry Christmas, Charlie!"

"How . . ..?" Charlie whispered, then fell silent.

His mother and father looked at each other. Charlie recognized their expression. He'd seen it often since they'd moved into the factory. It meant that they were, on the one hand, grateful to Willy Wonka, but on the other hand, guilty that they couldn't have done this for Charlie themselves.

"Where is he?" Charlie asked.

"He's mucking about in that fake snow," Grandpa George grumbled. "He hasn't even bothered to come in and say good morning yet."

Glancing out the window, Charlie saw Mr. Wonka standing near the curve of the river bank, conversing earnestly with a group of Oompa-Loompas in that odd sign language they used. After ten months in the factory, Charlie was slowly learning Oompa-Loompish, but Wonka's hands flew too quickly for him to follow. He only caught a few words: house, song, and snow, or maybe throw.

Charlie threw open the door to the cottage and rushed outside, drawing to a halt as he neared Wonka and the group of Oompa-Loompas. The chocolatier didn't acknowledge his presence, but Charlie knew that he'd seen him. Few things escaped Mr. Wonka's attention.

The Oompa-Loompas crossed their arms over their chests and bowed. Wonka returned the gesture, grinning widely. Still smiling, he turned to face Charlie.

"Good morning, Charlie!" he began brightly, but he didn't get any further. Charlie ran forward, throwing his arms around Wonka's thin waist. Wonka gasped slightly in shock, taking a step back in surprise, but his hands came up to rest lightly on Charlie's shoulders, telling Charlie that he didn't mind the hug, not really

"Thank you so much!" Charlie cried. "It's fantastic!"

Wonka stepped back, holding Charlie at arms' length. He cocked his head to one side, and his face took on an expression of bafflement that didn't fool Charlie in the slightest. "Why whatever are you talking about?" he asked.

In response, Charlie pointed towards the window of his cottage, where the twinkling tree was clearly visible.

Wonka's eyes widened in feigned surprise, and he let out a nervous giggle. "That!? My dear boy, I had nothing to do with that!

"Then who did?" Charlie asked.

"Why Santa Claus of course,"

"It's all right," Charlie said gently. "You don't have to pretend. I already know that Santa Claus isn't real."

"Sure he is!" Wonka said. "I've met him myself."

"Then why hasn't he visited me before?" Charlie asked.

Wonka leaned over his cane, wearing a particularly patronizing smile. "Why, because you lived in such a puny house, of course. A chocolate factory is much easier to spot from the air. Everybody knows that."

"If you say so," Charlie said. He'd learned that it was usually better not to argue with Mr. Wonka. "Are you going to come in?" he asked. "Mum's making breakfast."

Nodding, Wonka followed Charlie back to the decrepit Bucket house.

"Merry Christmas, Willy," Mr. Bucket said as the two stepped inside.

"Merry Christmas," Wonka replied, shrugging off his coat and hanging it up along with his hat.

Mrs. Bucket stepped forward, smiling. Her eyes looked a little bit damp. "We really can't thank you enough," she said. "Charlie's never had a real Christmas before."

Wonka scowled at her. "I already told Charlie," he said. "I had nothing to do with this. It was Santa Claus."

"Santa Claus my arse," Grandpa George mumbled.

Wonka's eyes widened a bit at the profanity, but he only turned to Grandpa Joe and said, "You believe in Santa Claus, don't you?"

"Of course, Mr. Wonka," Grandpa Joe said.

Wonka shot a superior glance at Charlie. "See?"

"Well whoever did it, we're very grateful," Mr. Bucket said.

Wonka only shrugged, and settled primly on the sofa, crossing his legs at the ankles and clasping his hands in front of him. Charlie plopped down onto the sofa, grinning from ear to ear.

"Aren't you going to open your presents?" Wonka asked him.

Charlie glanced at his mother for permission, and she nodded encouragingly. He settled hesitantly in front of the pile of presents, unsure where to start. Wonka nudged a particularly large package with the toe of his boot.

"Why not start with that one?"

Charlie lunged for the present, lifting it up and examining it from every side before carefully peeling the tape away from the wrapping paper. Wonka tilted his head, watching fondly as Charlie unwrapped the present, being careful not to wrinkle the paper. Setting the paper carefully aside (if nothing else, he could draw on it), Charlie opened the plain brown box to discover a toy airplane, nearly as large as himself. A small remote control sat in the box along with it.

"Wow," he whispered, and Wonka, dropping to his knees beside the sofa, drew up to sit beside Charlie.

"Here," he said. "Let me show you how it works."

Soon, they had the airplane whizzing around the room, diving into the kitchen and nearly crashing into the grandparents on the bed. Mr. Bucket covered Charlie's ears during the long tirade from Grandpa George that followed, and Wonka watched with a small smile.

"Charlie," Mr. Bucket said when it was safe to lift his hands from the boy's ears. "Perhaps you'd better open something else."

Reluctantly setting the airplane aside, Charlie reached for his next present, which turned out to be a long, thick frock coat, cut to match Mr. Wonka's. It was smoky blue, not plum, and made of a soft, thick velvet that snagged against the pads of his fingers.

"Try it on," Mr. Wonka said, and Charlie shrugged it over his pajamas. "Magnificent!" Wonka explained.

"Oh Charlie," his mother said, smiling at him tearily. "You look so handsome."

Opening other packages revealed three board games, several leather-bound books (_Alice in Wonderland_, _The Jungle Book_ --"That was my favorite when I was your age," Mr. Wonka said, _The Secret Garden_, _Treasure Island_, _Robinson Crusoe_, and many others, some of which Charlie had never heard of before), a complex looking building kit which included several motorized pieces, four puzzles, a chemistry set, a box of new crayons, and, finally, a sled that seemed to be made out of hard candy. In addition to all of the presents for Charlie were packages for the rest of the Buckets.

"It's fantastic," Charlie whispered, trying not to cry. "Thank you so much."

"For the last time, Charlie, stop thanking me," Mr. Wonka said. "I told you, I had nothing to do with it."

"Now Willy," Mrs. Bucket said, "you still need to open your presents."

Wonka's mouth dropped open as Charlie darted up into his bedroom and came down with the small stack of wrapped gifts they'd hidden up there.

"You guys didn't have to do that," he said, looking embarrassed.

"Sure we did," Charlie said, daring to rest a hand briefly on the chocolatier's arm. "You're our family now."

Wonka hesitated a second, then reached for the first gift, unwrapping it just as carefully as Charlie had unwrapped his. Watching him, Charlie had to wonder when he'd last received a present. Somehow, he suspected that even as a child, Wonka hadn't had many fun Christmases. Dr. Wonka seemed like the type who would give out practical gifts, like sweaters or socks.

They hadn't bothered to buy anything for Wonka -- the man had more than enough money to get anything he needed. Instead, they'd made homemade presents for him. The grandmothers had knit him a long scarf, plum colored, to match his favorite coat. Wonka grinned when he saw it, wrapping it around his neck three times and letting the ends fall to the floor.

"Why thank you!"

Grandma Georgina had given him a shapeless mass of fabric. Wonka turned it around and around in his hands, while Grandma Georigina smiled dreamily up at him.

"It's a tea cozy," Charlie whispered, leaning closer to the chocolatier.

Comprehension dawned in Wonka's eyes, and he stopped trying to wear it like a hat. "Just what I needed," he said, and Grandma Georgina beamed.

After a bit of hesitation, Charlie had decided to build Mr. Wonka another model of the factory -- made out of gumdrops, not toothpaste caps. Wonka's eyes widened when he saw it, and Charlie blushed, looking down at the floor.

"I wasn't really sure what to get you," he said.

"I love it!" Wonka said.

Charlie dared to look at him. "Really?"

"Of course!" Wonka said. "Er . . . those are my gumdrops, aren't they?"

"Of course," Charlie echoed, grinning from ear-to-ear.

"Good." And Wonka stood, setting the factory model carefully to the side. "Come on, Charlie," he said. "Let's test out your new sled."

"Really?" Charlie said. The powdered sugar snow in the chocolate room was completely unsuitable for sledding on. "You're really going to come outside?"

"Who said anything about that?" Wonka asked, bundling up again in his jacket.

"But you said . .."

"Haven't you been paying attention to anything, Charlie? If you want to go sledding, we've got the perfect place for it, right here inside the factory."

* * *

Charlie stood at the top of Fudge Mountain, staring down at the steep drop below with a nervous feeling in his stomach.

"Um, Mr. Wonka," he said. "I'm not so sure this is a good idea."

Wonka glanced over at him, his face almost completely hidden by his his thick scarf, goggles, and fuzzy earmuffs. He'd replaced his top hat with a warm woolen cap. "Nonsense," he said. "Where else are we going to find snow?"

"Outside," Charlie said. "We could find a hill. Don't you think this is a little steep?"

"Hmmph." Wonka shook his head sadly. "Scaredy-cat."

"I'm not scared!" Charlie protested.

Wonka gave him a clearly dubious look, and Charlie sighed. "All right," he said. "Maybe I am a little. But it looks dangerous."

"Nonsense," Wonka said. "It's perfectly safe. All we have to do is steer clear of the cliffs."

But Charlie hesitated, staring down at the blowing snow. Wonka crossed his arms over his chest. "Don't you trust me, Charlie?"

"Of course I do," Charlie said at once.

Wonka smiled. "Good," he said. "Then come on." He settled himself on the sled, motioning for Charlie to sit in front of him. "It's your sled," he said. "So you get to steer."

Charlie swallowed, and sat in front of Mr. Wonka, convinced that he was making the biggest mistake of his life. The sled rocked a little as he climbed onto it, and from this angle, the mountain seemed an almost vertical embankment. Wonka's thin arms wrapped around him, as good as an embrace, his long legs stretched on either side of Charlie's, and the part of Charlie that wasn't quaking in his boots realized that he had never been this close to the chocolatier before.

"Ready?" Wonka asked, grinning at him. Charlie nodded, gripping the slid handle as tightly as he could. "Then let's boogie!" Wonka said. And he pushed off with his heels.

For a slow, terrifying moment, they hovered at the top of the cliff. Then Wonka leaned forward, the nose of the sled pointed down, and they rocketed down the side of the mountain, snow flying into their faces.

"Left, Charlie!" Wonka cried, and Charlie spied an outcropping of rock candy straight ahead of them. He veered to the left, feeling Wonka throw his greater weight in along with him to help him steer the sled.

"Right!" Wonka yelled, and they threw themselves the other way, narrowly avoiding a pine-swudge tree. The sled was gaining momentum now; it could rival the Great Glass Elevator for speed.

"There's a cliff!" Charlie screamed, spying it straight ahead of them, too close to avoid by swerving left or right.

"Hold on!" Wonka yelled, and Charlie gripped the sled until his fingers went numb. The sled shot off the cliff, and for a second, they were airborne, snowy white air filling the space around them and a terrifying drop below. Charlie screamed. Behind him, Wonka's giddy laughter filled the air. And then, miraculously, the sled landed on another peak, throwing up sparks from the runners.

"Watch out," Wonka warned, and Charlie shook himself out of his shock just as the sled ripped through one of the mining teams. Oompa-Loompas scattered left and right out of the way of their sled. "Sorry!" Wonka called behind him, but the Oompa-Loompas didn't seem to mind. They were jumping up and down, waving ecstatically.

"Uh oh," Wonka said quietly, and Charlie glanced down as the nose of the sled hit a particularly dense outcropping of fudge. It stuck, throwing the back of the sled upward, and Charlie and Wonka flew up and off of it. Charlie scrabbled in midair for a grip, and then he landed in a patch of snow, and started to roll. For a dizzying moment, his world consisted entirely of snow. Snow in his eyes, snow in his ears, snow clogging up his nostrils and burning his arms and legs. Then he slid to a stop, an stood dizzyingly, wiping the snow from his face. In the distance, he could see Wonka, too, struggling to his feet.

"Are you all right, Charlie?" Wonka asked, plodding over to him through the snow.

Charlie gasped for breath, checking himself for injuries. He seemed okay, other than a few scratches.

"Let's do that again!" he cried, and Wonka laughed.

"Maybe later. Right now we need to hurry, or else we're going to be late."

"Late for what?" asked Charlie, wondering what sort of factory business Wonka had planned for the day. His parents said that Wonka was a work-a-holic. It didn't surprise Charlie at all to learn that he had business scheduled for Christmas.

But Wonka glanced sideways at him, and beamed. "Why for the caroling, of course! The Oompa-Loompas would be so disappointed if we missed it!"

* * *

They stopped briefly at Charlie's house to drop off the sled and retrieve the parents and grandparents. As always, Grandpa George grumbled a little about getting out of bed, but when Wonka smiled a little too sweetly and offered him a pill of Wonka-Vite, Grandpa George paled and climbed out of bed without a word. Charlie was relieved; he'd made a rather cranky baby, after all.

Charlie thought the caroling might take place in the chocolate room (it was the prettiest room in the factory, after all, and decorated for the season, with lights in all the trees and the powdered sugar snow dusting the swudge), but instead Wonka led them all through a series of twisting corridors and into an actual auditorium. Charlie gasped at the gleaming wooden stage and the velvet curtains.

Mr. Bucket was frowning, studying the rows of plushy seats. They surrounded the stage in a tiered half-circle; there must have been hundreds of them. "Why are there so many chairs here?" Mr. Bucket asked. "There are only the eight of us."

"Eight of us and the Oompa-Loompas," Wonka corrected. Sure enough, Charlie saw that only the first row had normal sized chairs -- all of the seats behind it were smaller, and raised high enough that any Oompa-Loompa sitting behind Wonka and the Bucket family would have no problem seeing over them.

They took their seats, and as Charlie watched, hundreds and hundreds of Oompa-Loompas began to pour in, filling the rows behind them. He tried not to stare, but he couldn't help it; he never got tired of studying the Oompa-Loompas when they weren't wearing their factory uniforms. Some of the younger ones wore modern clothing, cut to fit them,. but that first generation Wonka had rescued from Loompa-Land still insisted on wearing the leaves and animal skins they'd worn in the jungle. A thought occured to Charlie, and he leaned close to Wonka to whisper in his ear.

"Mr. Wonka, if the Oompa-Loompas are watching the show, who's performing it?"

Wonka beamed at him. "Why we are, my dear boy!"

"Us?" Charlie gasped, nervously glancing at the hundreds of Oompa-Loompas sitting behind them.

"All of us," Wonka said. "The Oompa-Loompas too."

"But who'll be on the stage?" Charlie asked, hoping that Wonka wouldn't make him climb up there in front of the entire factory.

"Nobody," Wonka said.

"Nobody?" Grandpa Joe asked.

"You can't very well see the show from up there now, can you?" Wonka said. Raising his voice, he cried out, "All right, everybody, let's boogie!" And from somewhere overhead, the sound of a drumbeat rolled into the room, followed by pulsing electronic music. Wonka jumped up to stand on his chair, as the Oompa-Loompas followed suit. Charlie's mouth dropped open as Wonka and the Oompa-Loompas began a rousing chorus of "Rudolph rhe Red-Nosed Reindeer." In the months he'd spent at the factory, Charlie had witnessed many performances by the Oompa-Loompas, but this was the first one he'd been expected to participate in. Wonka nudged him with his elbow, and Charlie shook his head and started singing along. Grandpa Joe had already joined in, and so had Charlie's parents (albeit a bit less enthusiastically!)

"Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" gave way to "Frosty the Snowman," and somewhere around the line "There must have been some magic in that old top hat they found," the Oompa-Loompas, en masse, decided that they'd had enough of standing still. They began pouring out of their seats and around the auditorium; despite Wonka's words, several rows of them ended up on stage. Charlie stopped singing entirely, and his mouth dropped open as they began cartwheeling and back-flipping across the stage and throughout the auditorium. Several of them went flying over his head! He dropped down into his seat to give them more clearance for their acrobatics, and watched the show, dumbfounded. He'd never get over how seamlessly the Oompa-Loompas could pull off an off-hand performance. A few of the youngest children misstepped once or twice, yet Charlie noticed that the older Oompa-Loompas immediately followed suite to make it look like it had happened on purpose. Not for the first time, he wondered if the Oompa-Loompas were telepathic. They seemed to silently pass a lot of information around amongst themselves, although they always spoke to Wonka and the Bucket family in words and signs.

Wonka tugged on the sleeve of Charlie's new frock coat, and Charlie glanced up at him. "Come on!" Wonka said. And keeping hold of Charlie's sleeve, he started leading him straight towards a group of Oompa-Loompas who'd formed an impromptu kick-line. Realizing that Wonka wanted him to join in on the dancing, Charlie swallowed and caught hold of his mother's hand. Mrs. Bucket grabbed ahold of Mr. Bucket's. He caught ahold of his father's, who pulled along his wife, and soon, Mr. Wonka was leading the entire Bucket family towards the dancing Oompa-Loompas. Mrs. Bucket giggled nervously as Mr. Wonka directed them all to join the kick-line. Charlie swallowed, and tried to keep up with the Oompa-Loompas and Wonka. At least Wonka proved to be human in some respects: he couldn't predict the Oompa-Loompas movements either. However, after a few seconds, the chocolatier stopped trying, and started making up his own moves instead. The Oompa-Loompas followed him instead, their movements echoing his only a fraction of a second later. Following Wonka's movements was difficult, but much easier than copying the Oompa-Loompas. After a few minutes, Charlie found himself enjoying the craziness of the dance. He especially loved watching his Grandpa Joe trying to keep time -- the old man had become a great deal more spry since moving to the factory!

But even Grandpa Joe's strength wasn't enough to last through the entire performance. The grandparents began dropping out one by one. First Grandpa George retired back to his seat, grumbling that he'd had enough of this nonsense. Grandma Josephine followed him a few minutes later, and without their hands on either side of her, Grandma Georgina seemed to forget that she was supposed to be dancing at all. She turned around and watched Wonka and the sweating Bucket family with wide eyes. Finally, Grandpa Joe shook his head and let go of Mr. Bucket's hand.

"I can't keep it up, Mr. Wonka," he said, staggering back to his seat. "I'll watch the rest of you instead."

But shortly after Grandpa Joe dropped out, Wonka seemed to decide that he, too, had had enough -- either that, or he didn't want his favorite grandparent feeling left out. He, too, returned to his seat, nodding for Charlie and his parents to follow him. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket looked relieved: drops of sweat beaded both their foreheads. The Bucket family gratefully followed Mr. Wonka out of the kick line.

Charlie expected Mr. Wonka to lead them back to their chairs in the audience, but instead, Mr. Wonka gave them all one of his most secretive smiles, and gestured towards the door. "Come with me," he said, practically yelling to be heard over the pulsing music. Wonka led them down one corridor, and then another. By now beginning to learn his way through the maze of rooms and corridors that made up the factory, Charlie soon realized that they were heading towards the chocolate room.

Curiously, he glanced up at Wonka; the chocolatier was walking with a bounce in his step, and a slight smile played around the corners of his mouth. He was pleased about something, that was for sure!

As they drew near the door of the chocolate room, Mr. Wonka stopped and turned to face them. His smile deepened, eyes glittering and mysterious. With a solemn nod of his head, he unlocked the door of the chocolate room and waved his hand to beckon them all inside.

Shrugging at each other, the Buckets stepped into the room that had been their home for the past ten months -- and stared.

Their tiny tumble-down shack was gone. In its place, stood a cheerful gingerbread cottage, bright with icing and twinkling with fairy lights.

"We already moved all your things inside," Wonka said quietly from behind them. "It looks small, but its much larger on the inside. Each set of grandparents will have their own bedroom now."

Mrs. Bucket opened her mouth, then closed it, shaking her head as if to clear it. Her eyes shone a little too brightly, but her beaming face made it clear that her tears were of joy, not sorrow. Mr. Bucket simply looked stunned. For once, even Grandpa George looked lost for words.

"I hope you don't mind," Wonka said softly. Charlie finally managed to tear his eyes away from the new cottage and look at the chocolatier: Wonka was glancing at the ground and twisting his cane in his hand, the way he did when he felt particularly nervous. "I like to keep everything in this room edible, you see," he said, "and your old house didn't quite go with the decour. I kept it, though. We can put it back if you don't like this one."

"It's perfect," Charlie said, stepping forward and resting his hand on Wonka's arm. "Thank you so much!"

"Yes, thank you," Mrs. Bucket said, finally managing to find her voice. "We don't know what to say."

"You've done so much for us already," Mr. Bucket said, still looking dumbfounded.

Wonka blushed, looking faintly uncomfortable with the thanks. In the end, it was Grandma Georgina who broke the awkward moment. She stepped forward, and threw her arms around the chocolatier.

"Happy Easter!" she cried, squeezing him tight.

Smiling just a little nervously, Wonka patted her on the shoulder. "Merry Christmas," he answered in return.

Charlie glanced from the pair to the cottage, aglow with light and looking wonderfully enticing. Suddenly, he longed to see his new bedroom.

"Last one there is a rotten egg!" he cried, and started running towards it.

"No fair!" Wonka cried from behind him. He released Grandma Georgina and chased after Charlie, quickly closing the distance with his longer legs. As he raced Mr. Wonka to the cottage, Charlie couldn't help laughing from the joy of it. Maybe there was something to be said for the old Christmas songs after all, he thought. Even in the factory, where every day was magical, it seemed that Christmas really was the most wonderful day of the year.


End file.
